


Footsteps

by HonestBacon, Live_fishbowl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5596171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonestBacon/pseuds/HonestBacon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Live_fishbowl/pseuds/Live_fishbowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat Vantas, you’re 15, and you have just become a runaway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footsteps

Chapter One

 

You can feel the sting of another blow lingering on your left cheek, but you don’t care anymore. Not about the tears soaking your face. Not about the bruises covering your skin. Not about your quivering body. Not about anyone around you, and definitely not about this awful orphanage you’re trapped in. There are no sounds to match the words being said by the vile lips in front of you, but you understand this is the part where you are sent to your room. In the hallway, time doesn’t seem to pass. You grab what belongings you have and stuff them into one of the backpacks everyone received during the last school year. Your older roommate doesn’t take note of anything and continues playing with his filthy blue clay. Reaching up to the only window in the room and unlocking the hatch, you take a long, deep breath. You’ve gone out this window many times to get away from the chaos in this building, but this time you won’t be coming back. Your name is Karkat Vantas, you’re 15, and you have just become a runaway. 

 

It’s feels like months have passed since I left the crumby old town. It’s been three weeks. My forehead throbs in rhythm with the slow pounding of my aching feet against the pavement and the straps on my shoulders have become unbarable. Not once in my life have I ever been this far on foot. Plus, not being the athletic type and wearing the same old sweatpants this whole time isn’t helping either. I don’t know where exactly I’ve ended up, thanks to not having any sense of direction. Honestly, I don’t care. At least when looking back I don’t see the town of my escape.

 

It’s almost sundown, which is when I usually find somewhere to rest, but there’s nowhere I can find that isn’t crawling with people. Might as well figure out where the hell I am if I’m not going to sleep. There's a small convenience store across the street with a newspaper stand inside, and newspapers usually tell the city. Right? 

 

The man behind the counter gives me a weird look, one I’ve received many times but haven’t quite gotten used to, but he moves on to checking out the next customer in his line. The newspaper isn’t any help, but the sight of food makes my mouth water with hunger. Living off free things I found hadn’t lasted long and I had resorted to stealing the week of leaving, but it doesn’t mean it made me any less guilty. Deciding to resist the urge, I left the food shelves. Upon reaching the end of the aisle I’m shaken out of my thoughts by running head-on into someone and knocking their glasses off.  

He looks up for a moment and we lock eyes before he starts talking, “I was lookin for you. Come on, Joseph is waitin for us.” Standing back up to his full height, which is pretty fucking tall, he places his glasses back on. Still lost in confusion, I stare up at him and his sharp blue eyes, which he seems to be trying to use to tell me something. Hell if I know what he’s trying to say, but he grabs my forearm and leads me out the door. 

Once we’re out of sight he lets go and shoves an icy soda into my hands, “Here.” 

I shove it into one of my pockets, “Um, excuse me, do I know you?” I ask, still rather befuddled and struggling to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t answer me. “Hello? Are you going to answer me you jerk?” Still no answer. I stop where I am and glare at the back of his brown haired head till he turns around and walks back to me.

“Just follow me an stop actin like a whiny baby,” he grabs my hand and starts pulling me to wherever the hell he’s going. I follow silently, glaring down at his cold hand engulfing mine. 

We finally arrive at a large, rundown two story motel and he lets go of his grip on my hand, “You are a runaway right, not just some weird dirty kid?” he asks with a vaguely British accent. 

“Why should I tell a dickwad like you anything?” I counter, I haven’t talked to many people in my last three weeks on the run. Mostly some nosey adults and the rare yet annoying over-friendly kid, and I don’t see why now is the time to start being social. 

“Maybe cause, oh I don’t know, I’m tryin to actually help you? Unless a course you liked living out there in the cold,” he retorts back with a huff.

“Fucking fine. I’m a runaway. Is it wrong to be cautious about what I want to share with assholes I’ve just met?” I snap. God he’s annoying and the purple streak in his hair doesn’t help either. 

“Well no you have a point, but you don’t have to be so fuckin rude about it geez,” the kid mutters in reply, and then turns and starts up a small and rusted ladder.  
“Now where are you going? No, let me guess. You want me to follow you up there too?” I shout at him.

“Well you don’t have to, but unless you wanna starve for a while longer I suggest you do,”  he shouts back over his shoulder as he disappears from my view.

“I don’t know why I’m trusting you,” I mumble, and climb up behind him. I have to tell myself not to look down the whole way up the unsturdy piece of shit.

 

When I finally reach the top I can’t see anything clearly except for an open door with light seeping out of it. Assuming it’s where the idiot is, I walk towards it to find him laying upside down on a dirty mattress devouring a probably stolen apple. 

“Took you long enough,” he jokes. There’s a small pile of clothes in the corner opposite the mattress and lots of small packages of food on top of a tiny motel fridge next to it. 

“I don’t have as long legs as you do, you know, and the damn ladder is shaky,” I point out. 

“If you’re gonna stay here go take a shower, you look really dirty, like, haven’t-taken-a-shower-in-a-month dirty, it’s kinda gross,” he says with the tone of a pretentious asshole, and gestures towards a closed door to my right.

“Uh, first off, you’re an asshole. Secondly, you can’t fucking order me around,” I protest.

“I’m not wrong, you do need to take a shower, and I think you’d rather sleep up here than in some dirty hole,” he states calmly, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.

“You better not be tricking me or some shit,” I threaten emptily, but he doesn’t say anything else.

 

The small bathroom has the basic sink, toilet, and bath, and all the visible pipes are rusty and dripping water. The tiny shower is lacking shower curtains and doesn’t look appealing. I slip the backpack off my shoulder and turn the knob for the hot water, and much to my discomfort, the shower head sprays me with cold water and sends chills down my spine. Stepping back, I shake the water of my hands. Great. Now I don’t have anything to put on after the shower unless I want to sleep in damp clothes all night. Why did I even agree to this? I try to lean my head against the closed door, but distracted by my frustration, I end up slamming my head against it.

“Havin problems, kid?” the pretentious asshole calls from the other room.

I open the door and once again glare at the douche before me, “Fuck you, I’m not a kid.”

“But you are havin problems,” he repeats, looking me up and down, though it kind of feels like he’s checking me out and it’s making me uncomfortable. 

“Yeah, I got all my clothes soaked,” I say grumpily, flipping him off. 

“Wow smooth move. You know, usually when people shower they take their clothes off,” he points out with an annoying smirk.

“I was trying to turn on the hot water, but the shower is a piece of shit,” I explain, rolling my eyes.

“What did you expect? This is a rundown motel, not a five star hotel,” he reminds me and reaches over to grab a change of clothes from his pile then throws them at me, “You can  wear these, they look better than whatever you’ve got on anyway.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, ignoring his rude comment about what I’m wearing, and shut the bathroom door again with an exhausted sigh. What am I getting myself into?


End file.
